Alien
by Faye-Naruse
Summary: The first thing Yuki heard was the creaking of the bedsprings. Yuki/Haru.


A/N: Takes place around the second episode.

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Alien

The first thing Yuki heard was the creaking of the bedsprings.

He was gasping. The heat of his body was so intense that his lungs felt hollowed out; a fish laid out to dry. But there was no sun burning through his eyelids and no warmth where his fists were clenching the bedsheets.

In the split second before he opened his eyes, Yuki wondered when he had last gotten this sick, this feverish in the space of what was surely only a few hours since he'd laid down to sleep –

Haru was above him, on top of him, all around him.

"Yuki..." he murmured, half shadowed in the dim moonlight. It was a whine, much like the tone Yuki had become used to, but tinged with something dark. He was panting, too, and moving. Writhing, really. Squirming, almost as if –

Reality struck Yuki like lightning. He barely shoved his fist into his mouth in time to muffle his scream – didn't want to wake up Grandma, now did he? – and he shot up.

The sudden movement forced Haru to lean back. "Yuki?"

Yuki couldn't remember the last time he'd touched his own dick, let alone someone else. Not that anyone but himself had, ever. And now some boy he barely knew had been riding him in his sleep, an alien feeling, ironically enough.

His eyes were bugging out of his head.

"Yuki, I don't really understand it, but this feels _really _good..." Haru punctuated that with a small thrust, and Yuki had to suppress a yelp, fist still in his mouth.

He had to stop him. There were all kinds of things wrong about this. Did Haru even know what he was doing? When Yuki took in Haru's needy expression – cheeks flushed, eyes watery, bottom lip red from the way Haru himself was nibbling at it – he wasn't sure who was taking advantage of who anymore.

Yuki gulped when he looked down and saw their clothed twin bulges pressed together. He wanted to tell Haru to get him off, err, to get off _of _him, but dammit it was just so hard to think with this mixed fog of sleep, lingering, and arousal, now hitting him full force.

His traitorous body found its own solution: it froze, like a possum playing dead. But his heart continued pounding against his ribcage, his frantic pulse a light switch that someone couldn't stop turning on and off.

"Yukiii." Haru was pouting, frustrated.

When Yuki said nothing, _did _nothing, Haru leaned up and ran his hands along Yuki's jaw. It was an intimate, curious motion. He moved slowly, letting his arms slide over Yuki's shoulders until they crossed at the wrists and used the newfound leverage to pull himself forward. He spread his hips wider, now chest to chest with the redhead.

"Is this a bother?" he asked softly, chin resting on Yuki's shoulder.

Yuki twitched involuntarily, in more places than one, when he felt Haru's body against him in more detail. His back was thin, like his own, and his hands moved of their own volition to the small of it. The two boys stayed like that for a long moment, in a hug too intimate for the space between them to remain breathable, heartbeat to heartbeat.

Haru mewled lightly into the crook of Yuki's neck and began to move again. His thrusts started slow as if trying to find their rhythm, awkward in their desperation. Yuki leaned back on an arm, his other falling to Haru's hip, and then Haru arched his back and the angle was so,_ so _good that he cried out. His breath was hot like steam on Yuki's earlobe, goosebumps rising on the back of his neck.

"Mmm, Yuki, too much, I don't–" Haru was babbling, eyes closed, breath hitching. He was all blond locks and red cheeks and lithe shoulders bobbing in Yuki's vision, and Yuki had to fight the instinctive urge to close his own eyes, because he wanted to watch, wanted to see how Haru's expression would twist – and it did, lip more swollen than ever, tears at the corners of his eyes – and he found himself tumbling over that delicious edge, too, all the tension in his body releasing in a series of shudders. His head fell to Haru's shoulder and it became harder than ever to reopen his eyes.

"Yuki?" Haru said, as innocent as always, if a little shamelessly breathless. He made an uncomfortable squeak when he squirmed and felt the wetness in his pants.

Yuki hated the idea of the stickiness all over his crotch drying – his pajama pants would need to be washed as soon as possible, Haru's too – but he couldn't summon the guts needed to face the embarrassing, dirty deed he and Haru had just committed, let alone find the will to move. He was already slipping into a state of sleep where things are heard but nothing can be done about them.

What his brain registered last was Haru, easing him down and then settling beside him, and the lightest of touches to the corner of his mouth.

Lips, maybe.


End file.
